


Keep Calm and Carry On

by vixleonard



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Not Related, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Slow Burn, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:12:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6947026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vixleonard/pseuds/vixleonard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of their son Robb during World War II, the Starks decide to send their remaining children to the country estate of Robb's school friend Jon.  Sansa's main focus is keeping her promise to her father to look after her siblings, and she doesn't spend much time thinking about the grieving man hosting them.  But as time goes on and the war seems to have no end in sight, Sansa finds herself drawn to the only person who seems to understand her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story will have 10 chapters, each posted every few days. It was inspired by an anon prompt left on my tumblr. My tumblr is **vixleonard** if anyone wants to check out the little fics posted there.

“Are we almost there?”

Sansa smiles at Rickon, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’d fallen asleep as soon as the train started, his little body splayed across her lap while Arya and Bran played some sort of game with each other, both looking unlike themselves in the fine clothing their mother insisted they wear for the trip to the country.

“Soon, love.” She ruffles his auburn hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Do you remember what you’re supposed to say to Lord Snow when we get there?”

“Thank you for hosting us,” Rickon recites, his head lolling against Sansa’s shoulder. He sighs. “I miss Mummy.”

“We’ve only left her a few hours ago, and we’re going to write her letters, remember?”

“Why couldn’t she come with us?”

“Because someone has to look after Winterfell and Grandfather Hoster,” Arya says, nose wrinkling at their little brother’s immaturity. “Stop whining.”

“Don’t be cruel!” Sansa snaps, wrapping an arm around Rickon’s shoulders. “He’s only three!”

Arya shrugs while Bran just watches them. “It’s the truth. No one’s babying us, so why should we baby him?”

“Is Mummy safe from the bad men?”

Sansa thinks of the air raid sirens, of the time spent huddling in shelters and being terrified they would all be buried alive beneath the rubble. She thinks of Robb in his casket, pale and lifeless, so unlike himself, dressed in that damned RAF uniform. They sent their father home from the front for the funeral, and both he and Mother looked so broken by Robb’s death, so absolutely lost, Sansa didn’t know what to do other than keep the children occupied. It was during Father’s visit he explained that they were sending the children to the country estate of one of Robb’s school chums and asked if she’d accompany them, waiting to start university until the war was over.

“You’ll take care of them, won’t you, Sansa?”

She had always been the dutiful daughter and seeing her parents so bereft, she didn’t hesitate to swear to her father she’d put her life on hold to follow her siblings to the country.

As the train starts to slow, Arya and Bran plaster themselves to the window, wanting to catch the first glimpse of the village. Rickon climbs over her lap, looking as well, but all Sansa sees is the small platform with a handful of people waiting. One of them is a giant man holding a sign bearing their last names, a fat man dressed in black beside him.

“Is that Lord Snow?” Bran asks.

“I don’t know.”

The only friend of Robb’s Sansa remembers is Theon Greyjoy, a boy a few years older who enlisted with Robb. His plane went down behind enemy lines and last Sansa knew, the Greyjoys didn’t know if Theon was alive or dead. There were whispers Balon Greyjoy sent his wife to a sanitarium because she couldn’t handle it.

They are the last ones off of the train, two porters carrying Bran in his wheelchair down the stairs. Her brother looks embarrassed at the way people stare at him, and when Arya snaps at one of the gawkers, Sansa doesn’t even correct her. Since polio stole Bran’s legs, they’d all become overprotective of him, the knowledge of how close they came to losing him too weighing on their hearts. It still breaks Sansa’s heart to see Bran, always running and climbing, struggling to get himself in his chair, trying so hard to balance with his crutches only to fall back into his chair.

“We’re the Starks,” Sansa says to the man in black, and the giant of a man smiles.

The fat man blinks in surprise. “Oh. I was expecting three, not four.”

“My father sent a telegram to Lord Snow about the change. Are you Lord Snow?”

“Oh, no – no, I’m Samwell Tarly. Sam. I’m the doctor at Castle Black.”

“What’s Castle Black?” Arya asks.

“The name of Jon’s estate. This is Hodor. He helps take care of the property.”

“Hodor,” the giant says with a wide grin.

“Hodor, can you help with their bags?”

Hodor begins to pick up their trunks and duffels as if they are packed with feathers, and all of their eyes widen. Sam gestures for them to follow, and Sansa scoops up Rickon, balancing him on her hip as Arya pushes Bran’s chair. Sam begins to explain they are in Moletown, the nearest village to Castle Black, and they come to the village once a week. There are a handful of children, all around Bran and Arya’s ages, at the estate as well along with a governess and a few servants.

“Lord Snow is happy to welcome you.”

 _So happy he could not greet us himself?_ Sansa thinks even as she smiles and thanks Dr. Tarly for such a gracious welcome.

* * *

In its prime, Castle Black must have been a splendid estate, but that prime is long since past. Though the grounds are well kept, it is clear it has seen better days. Sansa knows even the richest of families have had trouble keeping up their properties with the war, and she knows at once that Lord Snow does not have a great deal of wealth. The Snows are an old family, maybe even as old as the Starks, but most of society knows the money in the household is tight, particularly after Lord Snow married a common girl who brought nothing to the marriage.

His wife is gone now. Dr. Tarly told them that before they arrived, that Lady Snow died in the birthing bed along with Lord Snow’s son. It is why Lord Snow did not greet them himself, and he asked them to stay out of the west wing where Lord Snow’s rooms are.

Dr. Tarly shows them the room they’ve prepared for Bran and Rickon on the first floor and then winces as she explains there is only a single bed in Arya’s room. “As I said, I wasn’t expecting you to come, Lady Sansa.”

“Sansa can sleep in the barn,” Arya suggests with a mischievous smile and though she is too old for it, Sansa wants to kick her in the shins.

“There’s a maid’s quarters off of the kitchen that isn’t currently in use,” Dr. Tarly says, his chubby face turning crimson. “I can have Hodor carry the bed upstairs – “

“I can stay in the maid’s quarters,” Sansa interrupts, struggling so hard to be gracious. After all, Lord Snow is doing a favor for her parents, and the last thing she wants her parents to hear is she’s acting bothersome. “It’d be a bit of privacy.”

Her bit of privacy is barely more than a closet off of the pantry and crooked back staircase, a single bed, a nightstand, and a dresser crammed into the small space. Sansa unpacks her trunk, carefully setting her skirts and blouses inside the dresser, and she finds herself on the brink of tears. Her throat is tight, lower lip quivering, and she keeps swallowing hard in an attempt to stay calm. She never once saw Robb cry and now that she is in Robb’s place, she cannot cry either.

There is no mirror in the room, and Sansa is glad for it. She does not want to see the weakness on her face.

* * *

There are a handful of boys already in Castle Black, and by suppertime, Arya is their leader. She comes to the table with the boys in tow, all of them at least a head taller than she is, and introduces them all: Pyp, Grenn, Edd, Gendry, and Hot Pie. Sansa does not believe any of those are their Christian names, but she just introduces herself all the same. While she is in search of something Rickon can sit on so he can reach the table, others have joined the table. One of them is quite possibly the most beautiful woman Sansa has ever seen who introduces herself as Val the governess.

“Thank god I’ll finally have some company that isn’t trying to sneak frogs into my bag,” Val laughs, and judging by the way Bran and Rickon both look at her, Sansa suspects her brothers are in love.

The man with wild hair and a bushy beard the same shade as Sansa’s own is Tormund the groundskeeper and the wiry girl beside him is Mya the stable girl. There is also Old Nan, equal parts cook, nanny, and maid, and Sansa thinks this is the first time she’s ever shared a meal with the help.

They are certainly not in Winterfell anymore.

It isn’t until she is tucking in Bran and Rickon that Sansa realizes they still have not seen hide or hair of Lord Snow.

“Who shall we pray for tonight?” she asks Rickon.

“Mummy and Father and Robb and Uncle Benjen and Shaggy.”

“You can’t say a prayer for a dog,” Bran says from the bed parallel Rickon’s.

“Can so!”

“We can pray for anyone we want,” Sansa says with a firm voice. “Bran, do you want us to pray for Summer too?”

Bran rolls his eyes but steeples his hands and nods. “Meera and Jojen too.”

By the time they have finished reciting the long list of people Rickon and Bran want to pray for, Rickon is falling asleep, Bran is halfway there, and Sansa is ready for bed as well. However she still climbs the stairs to find Arya’s room and bid her goodnight as well.

Arya’s room is near Val’s on the opposite end of the hallway from the boys, the space downright palatial compared to Sansa’s room. Arya sits on the massive bed in her nightgown, trying to run a comb through her hair, and Sansa sighs, taking the comb from her and trying to work a particularly bad knot loose.

After a long, quiet moment, Arya murmurs, “Do you really think Mum and Dad will be safe in the city?”

Sansa’s shaking hands begin to twist Arya’s hair into a long plait. “Of course.”

“Are you lying to me because you think I’m a baby like Rickon?”

“Have I ever lied to spare your feelings?”

Arya snorts. “Fair enough.”

Sansa kisses the top of her head. “Good night, pest. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Sod off,” Arya calls with a laugh.

Sansa closes the door behind her, turning on her heel towards the staircase when she freezes. A well-dressed man is ascending the staircase, and when he sees her, he pauses for a moment before finishing his climb. Sansa smoothes her hands over the skirt of her dress and tries to muster up a polite smile.

“You must be Lord Snow. I’m Sansa Stark.”

She doesn’t know why she’s startled by how young he is. Robb used to speak about his friend Jon, and if they went to school together, it means Lord Snow is no more than twenty-five. His dark hair is kept close to his head, and there are bags beneath his grey eyes. The dark beard on his face is a bit untidy, and he rubs a hand over it like an anxious tic.

“Right. Yes, of course. Robb mentioned you often when we were at school. You’re…older than I thought. You’re…fifteen?”

“Seventeen,” she corrects. “Arya is fifteen.”

“Oh, I must be thinking of her then.” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry about forgetting to tell Sam about your arrival. I’ll have a new room made up for you tomorrow.”

“My room is fine, Lord Snow.”

He flinches from the title. “Please, call me Jon.” As the downstairs clock strikes nine, he says, “You must be tired from the day’s journey. I’ll let you head to sleep. Goodnight, Sansa.”

“Goodnight.” 

As she descends the staircase, she wonders how her big brother could ever have considered a man with such abominable manners to be his best friend.


	2. Chapter 2

The third week at Castle Black, Sansa wakes up to Arya shaking her and calling her name. Sansa winces at the bright glare of the sunshine hitting her bed at just right the angle and manages, “Arya, stop,” before she’s aware that Bran is calling her name too, trapped outside her room due to the small width of her doorway.

“What’s wrong?” Sansa asks, awake at once. Arya is the sort for pranks, but Bran has always been the more levelheaded of the two of them. If he planned on participating in a prank, he wouldn’t do it at dawn.

“We can’t find Rickon!” Arya exclaims, true fear in her voice. “We’ve been looking all over the house and we can’t find him anywhere. Val just sent the boys out to check the grounds.”

Exploding out of her bed, Sansa shouts, “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?!”

It is the height of terrible manners to go running about Castle Black barefoot and in her nightgown, but Sansa doesn’t care. As she goes tearing through the house, shouting Rickon’s name as loud as she can, all she can think about is her baby brother. Even Old Nan is looking, shuffling and calling for him, and Sansa doesn’t even want to imagine how her mother will react if something has happened to him.

 _Don’t even think that way_ , she chastises herself as she rushes down the cracked stone steps and into the driveway. _He’s just hiding. He thinks it’s a game._

In the distance she can see Gendry on the edge of the forest, Hot Pie puffing after him. Pyp and Grenn are farther down the driveway near the gate, Arya pushing Bran down the path towards the gardens. Mya offers to search the barn and Tormund, the garden shed. Sansa spins for a moment when a terrible thought occurs to her. She hasn’t run since before Robb went to war, back when they still had foot races and he’d let her have a head start before beating her, but Sansa runs faster than she ever has towards the pond.

Though Sansa isn’t fond of this country place, she loved to sit in the small gazebo near the pond and read. When her siblings were at their lessons, she’d select a book from the Castle Black library and retreat there, spending equal time trying to focus on the words and dreaming about what it would be like if she was at university instead. One evening she’d taken Rickon down there to look at the frogs, and he’d begged her to take one inside, a request she’d denied.

She spots his hair first, that Tully red brilliant against the green and browns of the grass and mud. He is still dressed in his pajamas but his shoes are on the bank. The water is only up to his knees, Rickon squatting to look at something in his mud-covered hands, and Sansa isn’t certain whether she wants to squeeze him tight or shake him.

“Rickon!”

His guilty face turns to her before he smiles, holding up his cupped hands. “I caught a frog, Sanny! Come see!”

“Get out of the water right now!” When Rickon freezes, eyes wide at the harshness in her voice, Sansa wades in, not even bothering to pull up her skirts. As she reaches for him, he jumps out of reach, ice-cold water splashing up and Sansa slips, falling hard on her behind into the muddy water. Pushing to her feet, she pursues Rickon onto the grass, soaked to the bone, her pride and arse equally bruised.

He cries out when she catches his upper arm, shouting about his frog, but Sansa keeps tight hold of him.

“Don’t you ever come here by yourself! You don’t know how to swim! If you’d fallen in, you’d drown and we’d never see you again!”

Rickon’s chin quivers, tears filling his eyes. “I just wanted to see the frogs.”

“You scared us all to death! Promise me you won’t do this again!”

“I promise!” Full on crying now, Rickon cradles his hands closer to his chest. “Can I keep my frog?”

“May I keep my frog?” Sansa corrects without thinking. Looking into his tear stained face, she relents, “I suppose. Now come on. We have to let everyone know you’re safe and we both need baths.”

Rickon, sensing now is not the time to argue, nods, letting her escort him back to the house.

As they round the barn, Sansa sees Lord Snow is standing with Val and Dr. Tarly, all looking panicked, and when Arya sees them, she shouts their names, rushing towards them fast enough that Sansa worries Bran might be tossed from his chair. Rickon shows them his frog, insisting that if they are nice he will let them play with it, and Sansa marches towards the trio of adults.

She knows she must look a fright, water logged and mud covered, her hair a sweaty tangle, but she does not care. Stopping in front of Lord Snow, adrenaline still pulsing through her blood, she orders through clenched teeth, “You will find us a room in this house with a bed big enough for me to share with Rickon. If you cannot do that, you will take me into the village and I will call my mother so we can return to London.”

“Sansa, I know you’re upset – “

“You swore to my father you’d protect them,” she cuts in, rage making her voice as sharp as a blade. “You said they’d be safe here.”

“They are.”

“I just found my three-year-old brother in your bloody pond! Does that sound safe to you?!” Shaking her hair out of her face, she spits, “I don’t care if you’re a sodding lord or not, if anything happens to any of them while we’re here, not even Dr. Tarly will be able to help you, do you understand me?!”

His grey eyes wide, Lord Snow nods. “I’m sorry, Sansa.”

As Sansa stalks into the house to take a bath, she hears Arya say to Bran, “I didn’t even think Sansa knew those words.”

* * *

After a long bath and a breakfast Old Nan insists she eats, the fear from this morning dissipating from her body, Sansa realizes just how atrocious her behavior towards Lord Snow was. She’d never yelled at anyone but Arya in her life, and even then she minded her tongue. As she eats her oatmeal, she tries to imagine her mother’s face if Lord Snow writes to tell of her foul behavior, and Sansa knows the last thing Catelyn Stark needs is the embarrassment of her children being sent back to her.

Lord Snow keeps to himself, seldom joining them for meals or speaking to anyone other than the estate’s employees. But Sansa is observant and has seen the room Dr. Tarly and Val go to when they need to speak to the master of the house, which is why she walks down the dark hallway, takes a deep breath, and knocks on the door.

“Come in!”

Sansa swallows hard as she opens the door, Lord Snow seated at a desk in front of the window, and she sees the surprise written all over his face when he realizes she is not who he was expecting.

“I want to apologize for my behavior this morning. It was completely inappropriate and awful and no matter how scared I was about Rickon, I never should’ve said the things I said. Please don’t send them away. I’ll return to London if you cannot bear to have me here any longer – “

“What?” Lord Snow shakes his head. “No, Sansa, stop. I’m not sending anyone away.”

A weight starts to lift from her shoulders. “You’re not?”

“Of course not. I meant what I told your parents; you and your siblings are welcome here for as long as this war lasts.” The ghost of a smile plays at his lips. “Besides, Robb said far worse things to me during the course of our friendship. If anything, I could finally see a true resemblance between the two of you today.”

Sansa cannot help her small smile. She misses Robb so much. Her parents stopped mentioning him, the mere mention of his name bringing their mother to tears, and Sansa never wanted to upset anyone. It’s so… _nice_ to hear someone speak about him.

“I still regret the way I comported myself today.”

“You’d do anything to keep the ones you love safe. You’ll never need to apologize to me for that.” A shadow falls over his face as he looks out the window, and Sansa wonders if he’s still thinking about Robb. After a moment he shakes his head and gestures to the paper in front of him. “Besides, you were right. Rickon isn’t like the other children here; he requires more supervision, certainly more supervision than Old Nan can provide. I’m writing to Val’s cousin. She’s a nanny, and Val thinks she’ll be able to keep up with him.”

“Thank you. My father gave me money, I can help pay her wages – “

Lord Snow holds up his hand. “No, absolutely not.”

Getting to her feet, she says, “Thank you, Lord Snow.”

This time a real smile flashes across his face. It last only a moment but the transformative effect is has on his face is astounding. “I told you before, you can call me Jon. In fact, I insist upon it.”

“Yes.” When he looks at her expectantly, she chuckles and adds, “Jon.”

As she leaves Jon to his letter writing, Sansa wonders if perhaps she has judged Jon Snow too quickly.


	3. Chapter 3

As happy as she is that Jon hired Osha to be Rickon’s nanny, Sansa quickly realizes she doesn’t have anything to do now. Playing mother to Rickon was her main purpose, Bran and Arya both insistent they didn’t need such attentions, and now Sansa finds she isn’t just bored while the children are having their lessons; she’s _constantly_ bored. A girl can only read so many books and write so many letters to friends in the city before losing her mind. Mya offers to saddle a horse for her so she can ride around the grounds, but Sansa never cared for riding the way Arya did. She likes Mya but when she spends too much time in the stables, Tormund gets after Mya for not getting all of her work done.

So Sansa walks.

There are trails surrounding the estate, spreading out for acres in all directions. Sansa picks a trail each morning after Val rounds up all the children for lessons and sets out, returning each afternoon with sweat on her brow, dirt on her shoes, and jealous questions from Arya.

“It’s not fair you get to explore while I’m stuck conjugating French verbs.”

“Mother wants to make sure you don’t fall behind in school.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to go to university like you.”

“What are you going to do then, get married and become a society lady?”

The look of horror on Arya’s face is enough to make Sansa laugh. “No, I’m going to go to the States.”

Sansa stops folding Arya’s messy clothing and looks at her sister. “What do you mean, you’re going to the States? Why would you do that?”

“Because I want to and ladies get to do more there. Gendry said.”

“Gendry said,” Sansa echoes, biting the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. “And is Gendry going to go there as well?”

“They don’t care about who your parents are there or if you’re an orphan. He can get a fair shake there.” Noticing Sansa’s expression, she snaps, “I’m not in love with him!”

“Of course you’re not. You’re too young.”

She isn’t certain if Arya’s glare is because of the insinuation she’s infatuated with the handsome orphan or because Sansa’s reminded her of her age.

Sansa herself has never been in love. As she sets off for today’s walk to the north side of the estate, she thinks about Arya and her crush. Unlike her sister, the only boys Sansa had been around at home were her brothers and their friends. Mother insisted on her and Arya attending the all-girls’ school she and Aunt Lysa attended as girls, and while there were a few events with their brother school, they were always so closely monitored it was near impossible to get to know anyone. Joffrey Baratheon showed interest in her once but Father forbid it as soon as it was mentioned.

She wonders what Father would think if he knew Arya wanted to flee the country with a barely literate orphan.

Being the first changed so many things. It was one of the many things she and Robb shared, the pressures of being the first son and first daughter and the expectations that came with it. Flirting with boys or even conversing with a boy outside of a chaperone could lead to rumors and whispers that would not only ruin Sansa’s prospects of a good match in society but break her parents’ hearts. Father let Arya have more freedom and Sansa never resented it until this moment.

Robb is gone. Theon is gone. Even Joffrey Baratheon is gone, buried beneath rubble during a bombing. Margaery had written that Willas was crippled by the Germans and Loras, a prisoner in the Pacific; she’d also written that Willas asked after her and Sansa knew her best friend hoped to make a match for Sansa with one of her brothers. 

Her letters to Jeyne have gone unanswered. Sometimes Sansa thinks about the beautiful lace dress they’d all helped her pick, about how Jeyne glowed with happiness at the idea of marrying Robb. She wonders if Mrs. Westerling returned the dress or if it’s hanging in some closet, sad and unused.

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until she tastes salt on her lips. As she wipes at her face, she notices a black wrought iron fence in the distance. Cresting the hill, she sees the fence surrounds a small cemetery, most of the stones crumbling, but there is Jon, kneeling before two fresh stones.

When he lifts his face and she sees the glistening of tears in his eyes, Sansa blurts out, “I’m sorry,” stumbling back.

“No, Sansa, it’s fine!” Getting to his feet, Jon wipes at his face. “I was just leaving flowers for Ygritte. It’s our anniversary today.”

“How long would you have been married?”

“This would’ve been our second.”

Sansa blinks in surprise. “I didn’t realize…It’s so little time together.”

Jon nods. “It was.” Motioning for her to join him, he says, “Sansa, this is Ygritte. Ygritte, this is Sansa.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Sansa says, noticing the dates on the headstone. Lady Snow died only two weeks before they received word of Robb’s death, and the stone beside hers simply read “Baby Boy Snow” with the same death date.

“She would have liked you. Ygritte loved a woman with a fearless heart.”

“There’s nothing fearless about me.”

Jon shakes his head. “Perhaps you don’t see yourself as you are.” Offering her his elbow, which she takes, he asks, “What brought you so far out today?”

“I’ve been exploring the grounds while the others have lessons.”

“Have you found anything exciting?”

“I startled some deer yesterday. Otherwise it’s just me.”

“So you’re bored.”

“No, of course not – “

Jon laughs, and it surprises Sansa how much she likes the sound of it. “It’s all right. I remember how bored I was growing up here. I was probably the first boy excited to be sent to boarding school.”

Sansa smiles. “It _is_ a bit isolated.”

“That it is.” She knows he is looking at her from the corner of his eye and she struggles not to blush. “I have to go into the village tomorrow to take care of some business. Maybe you’d like to come with me? You could wander about the shops and we could have lunch?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It’s not an imposition at all. I’d love the company.”

She knows she is blushing now and hopes he mistakes it for the late spring heat. “Then I would like to come, yes.”

“Wonderful! It’s a date then.”

She’s never been on a true date and she knows that is not how Jon means it, but it has been so long since she’s had any true fun. If strange and silent Jon Snow wants to be her friend, Sansa is grateful for it. With the world upside down, one couldn’t say no to an offer of friendship.


End file.
